In which fucking Steve, man. Just...what a blight upon mankind and his friends and curly hair everywhere.
So we start with approximately 87 hours of track and field events in slow-mo. First up is this guy doing the long? jump? And panting. And grunting. Also presented in slow-motion.
So we start with approximately 87 hours of track and field events in slow-mo. First up is this guy doing the long? jump? And panting. And grunting. Also presented in slow-motion.
And then this different guy lands in the sand pit thing or whatever, with a bunch of Randos watching from the sidelines. All of this is nearly as fascinating as the early-episode hockey antics we were subjected to during "Fire and Ice."
These people run around the track, huffing and puffing and some are wearing Spandex bike shorts, which was required of anyone participating in a physical activity in the early '90s. Or by girls like me who badly wanted to be their middle school's Clarissa Darling or Kelly Kapowski and failing miserably on all counts.
A baton is passed. My nose begins to bleed because I've snorted a bunch of methamphetamine in a desperate attempt to stay awake.
This 37-year-old man prepares a shot put. We'll be dealing with this piece of shit's smug face more in a few minutes. Anyway, he - SHOCK - grunts and throws the shot.
Steve. Stretching. In one of his trusty Forever 21 clearance rack racer-back tanks. Which provides just a hint of a view of his right nipple. Thanks for that, Steve.
There's a gun shot, unfortunately not directed toward Steve's hair. It was actually a starting gun for these FUCKING GROWN MEN, like, straight-up 30-something-dudes, to start their hurdle race.
Then we get this shot of an old-school stop watch being stopped or started and we see that it belongs to...
...This Guy! You know, the guy in "The Next Fifty Years" where Dead Scott dead-Scotted himself into that great big dude ranch in the sky? Mr. Chapman! Or, Chappie, as I like to call him (no, I don't, but it stays for the remainder of the recap).
Here's a guy pole vaulting and can you guess what he's doing while vaulting? Can you???
A baton is passed. My nose begins to bleed because I've snorted a bunch of methamphetamine in a desperate attempt to stay awake.
This 37-year-old man prepares a shot put. We'll be dealing with this piece of shit's smug face more in a few minutes. Anyway, he - SHOCK - grunts and throws the shot.
Steve. Stretching. In one of his trusty Forever 21 clearance rack racer-back tanks. Which provides just a hint of a view of his right nipple. Thanks for that, Steve.
There's a gun shot, unfortunately not directed toward Steve's hair. It was actually a starting gun for these FUCKING GROWN MEN, like, straight-up 30-something-dudes, to start their hurdle race.
Then we get this shot of an old-school stop watch being stopped or started and we see that it belongs to...
...This Guy! You know, the guy in "The Next Fifty Years" where Dead Scott dead-Scotted himself into that great big dude ranch in the sky? Mr. Chapman! Or, Chappie, as I like to call him (no, I don't, but it stays for the remainder of the recap).
Here's a guy pole vaulting and can you guess what he's doing while vaulting? Can you???
Run a knife across my throat.